


When Autumn Comes

by jnghyncult



Category: ASTRO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Autumn, Developing Relationship, Disaster Gays Binu, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Strangers to Lovers, just soft Binu fluff really
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-26
Updated: 2018-11-26
Packaged: 2019-08-29 22:54:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16753012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jnghyncult/pseuds/jnghyncult
Summary: After the hot and exhausting summer months, autumn arrives and brings beauty, change and unexpected love.





	When Autumn Comes

**Author's Note:**

> Bin in that [knit v-neck sweater](https://drive.google.com/file/d/1TLyEBp9B2h2-9zVoTEDD_htR4CmTr-j0/view?usp=sharing) and [this Dongmin look](https://drive.google.com/file/d/1V1WGTo-Rg28dGFS4-0zcvq0W1BXU_jxq/view?usp=sharing) had me so shook that I needed to write a whole AU about it.

Autumn.

His favourite season.

Muted browns, soft oranges, intense reds, faded greens, striking yellows – a beautiful mix of loud and quiet, but at the same time harsh and soft colours.

Breathtaking motives show as the days get shorter, darker, colder.

In his eyes, many people fail to see the absolute beauty autumn holds. They associate autumn with nature dying, losing its life – he associates autumn with renewal, an abandonment of the old, a new beginning, new possibilities for growth and even more beautiful scenes painted by mother nature.

In his eyes, autumn is truly beautiful, a glimmer of hope in a restless world full of fleeting moments.

To him, autumn is beauty.

Maybe that’s why he decided to pursue photography? To capture all these different evanescent moments, preserving them in pictures for generations to come and to admire.

People always tell him he has “The Eye”. What this implies, he does not know. They also tell him he should leave landscape and nature photography behind, purse a career in fashion photography instead, make money, become famous.

However, he doesn’t want that. His work is not about profit nor is it about becoming famous. It’s about expressing his emotions.

He wants to portray how he feels, wants to show his viewers how he perceives beauty, admiration, serenity, love and hatred.

He longs to express himself.

He longs to be understood.

His professors don’t understand him, they never do. However, the subscribers of his personal blog do, they admire his photographs and talk about their own interpretation of his work with him. With them he feels understood, it brings him peace, somewhat at least.

Nevertheless, there are days – days like this.

He posted his latest set of perfectly edited photographs to his blog and he handed in his latest assignment for his photography class. The feedback on both ends is superb, astounding even.

He should be happy; he should smile.

Instead, there is a looming sadness clouding his mind.

A silent sigh leaves his lips. There is no use moping around, complaining. It won’t solve any issues; he tried that one too many times in the past. It didn’t lead to anything and it only made everything worse.

Lost in his thoughts, Dongmin continues to just wander along the small beaten track in some park somewhere in Seoul; he doesn’t remember how he even ended up here.

The leaves surrounding him already turned from their luscious, summery green into pleasant browns and various other shades of autumn.

It’s nice, he concludes. He feels free for once, somewhat at peace with himself. He wants to feel like this more often, leave all his burdens behind.

He shakes his head, chuckling lowly – maybe out of disbelief.

Looking around, he spots countless angles, interesting shapes and beautiful lighting all around himself. His fingers twitch, itching to move to the expensive camera hanging around his neck to capture all these moments, all this beauty.

To him, autumn is beauty.

~

He realises, about three hours later, he got lost in his work again, forgot about his surroundings, shut himself off in his own comfortable, little bubble.

“Time really flies,” he mutters to himself, looking at the time on his smartphone.

10.53 a.m.

He has no classes today, so he decides to continue wandering around this park. He wants to appreciate the last moments of calm and serene nature before going back into the urban jungle of South Korea’s capital.

However, before he leaves the park, he sees someone.

Sitting on a bench about ten meters away is a boy – a man rather. Tall, well-built, dare he say ethereal even.

Fluffy – most likely dyed – white hair softly rests atop his head, styled in a way that leaves part of his forehead exposed and creates beautiful waves of snow-like white.

Perched on the bridge of his nose is a pair of black-rimmed glasses, fitting him nicely.

His outfit, all black, gives off a comfortable aura. A too-big black hoodie Dongmin himself would probably drown in; black, ripped jeans exposing his knees and the lean, porcelain skin of his thighs and to finish it off: black converse.

His outfit creates a stunning contrast to his flawless and clear, pale skin as well as his soft and pillowy white hair.

In Dongmin’s opinion, his cat-like eyes, thin lips and soft cheekbones suit him rather well. He looks mischievous and witty, different and interesting – and Dongmin finds him to be the most attractive male he has ever seen.

 _‘He would make a great model,’_ he thinks. His look is unique and Dongmin doubts he will forget this beautiful and perfect stranger for days to come.

He continues admiring, hands reaching for the camera around his neck, hanging there like his favourite necklace. Dongmin wants to capture this moment; he feels obligated to, refusing to let such beauty go by unnoticed and not captured.

A perfect stranger scribbling away on what looks to be a notebook or sketch pad, encased in the soothingly warm rays of the early autumn sun. Oblivious to his surroundings, lost in nature and calmness. A small smile visible on thin but pretty lips.

It’s a beautiful sight to see.

Click. He takes the first picture.

Click. He takes a second one.

Click. A third one.

He can’t resist, the sight too captivating, too alluring, too bewitching.

He goes for a fourth shot, but the beautiful stranger across looks up in that exact same moment, seems to be staring right into the lens of Dongmin’s very own camera.

They stare each other down, gazes locked. Camera and pencil being lowered or stopping unconsciously. Nobody moves for a good ten, maybe twenty, maybe even thirty seconds. (They feel like hours to Dongmin, and perhaps even longer to the perfect stranger on the bench.)

Dongmin worries: Does he seem creepy taking pictures of a stranger he doesn’t even know the name of in some park god-knows where in Seoul?

He is embarrassed, and waits for the other male to turn away so he can’t make the matter worse than it already is. (He has a knack for embarrassing himself to the utmost degree, especially in front of people he deems very beautiful.)

Albeit, all his hopes are lost when the perfect stranger doesn’t move. He’s just sitting there; unflinching and unmoving.

Then, out of the blue, the smile on the stranger’s face brightens. His smile grows by the second, eyes turning into a beautiful crescent moon shape.

Dongmin can’t get enough, he can’t resist.

He lifts his camera to take a last, a fourth, picture.

The stranger looks surprised for a second, his smile, however, unwavering. Instead, it even seems to be growing in brightness.

He lowers his camera again.

A shy and unsure, but mostly embarrassed smile tugging the corners of his lips upwards, returning one to the male sitting under the balding autumn trees.

Dongmin swears he sees redness conquering the stranger’s cheeks; he’s not sure however. This mere thought causing a blush to form on his own cold and soft cheeks.

Both males avert their gazes, slowly and subtly (totally not shyly, no), the stranger’s attention returning to his sketch pad and himself turning left and continuing on towards the park’s gates; the encounter, however, is deeply engraved in both their minds.

Unbeknownst to Dongmin, the beautiful stranger with bright, bashful smiles and snow atop his head sitting under falling leaves, sparked a flame inside his heart.

Maybe they were bound to meet, who knows.

To him, autumn is beauty. And this perfect stranger is the most beautiful creature he ever saw.

To him, autumn means renewal.

~

Autumn.

The season that makes nature prepare for renewal, a new beginning.

To him, autumn means change; change for the better.

His parents taught him to anticipate change, to welcome it, to never turn away from it.

He is glad autumn finally came. The muted colour palette of the nature around him soothes his mind and eases his worries greatly. (He has never been one for flashy Neons and bright, loud colours anyway.)

He needs change.

Desperately.

These days, everything just seems so – dare he say it – dull.

He blames summer.

He’s never been particularly fond of the summer months.

In his opinion, they are always too hot, there is too little rain and he is forced to take part in one too many social gatherings. (“Come on, Bin. Live a little, don’t be such a party pooper,” his friends always say – he hates parties and they know it.)

Summer always leaves him exhausted.

He craves autumn.

To him, autumn is change, change for the better.

When autumn comes, he can bring out his hoodies again, regularly visit the cosy coffee shop near his favourite park again (they’re closed during the summer months); he can, first and foremost, enjoy his alone time again.

Now that autumn finally has arrived again, he just wants to get out, out of these restricting walls – this stuffy prison that was his apartment during summer, out into the fresh and crisp air of early autumn.

So, he did just that; he went out, leaving the stuffy air and atmosphere behind, exploring and relishing in new, repainted nature.

That’s how he finds himself out here in a park in a pretty central part of Seoul, on a Thursday morning at roughly 9.13 a.m.

Clad in his favourite black hoodie, his head already brimming with ideas of new arrangements he wants, and longs, to play on his violin. (He missed having so many different ideas.)

He can already feel the pleasant itch in his fingers, the desire to play, to express his feelings with the help of his music.

Over the course of his college years, he has taken to writing his ideas down in his sketchbook-turned-notebook. (He isn’t really the drawing type – he does draw sometimes however – but this sketchbook was way cheaper than any music notebook he could find.)

He starts humming to himself at some point. Humming the different tunes, which he writes down, to himself often helps him picturing the ideas clearer and more polished.

Somewhere along the way, whilst endlessly humming different melodies, there is an idea is born in his head; seemingly out of nowhere. It remains there, persistently occupying his mind, leaving no room for others or new ones.

He doesn’t mind. In fact, he’s grateful.

Thenceforward, everything just flows, everything just seems to make sense. His mind creating a new piece of music without any difficulties. It’s as if he were a famous composer.

As he filled out a whole page with staves and notes, he starts anew on the next one. Over and over, until he finishes off with the last and final note, the final bar.

It’s surprising to him as well, finishing a whole piece this quickly. A warmth is spreading in his chest.

To him, autumn is change.

Change is good.

 _‘Finally… Autumn is finally here again,’_ he whispers softly, almost inaudible.

He never finished composing a whole piece in such a short period of time. He’s happy; he’s ecstatic.

Maybe he can even get some extra credit for handing in a self-made composition again? He definitely hopes so.

His mind starts wandering again, to the piece this time.

He hasn’t played it yet (he obviously doesn’t have his instrument on him), however, it’s already one of his favourite ones, he can tell.

He imagines the pauses, held just long enough to intensify a melancholic and reminiscent feeling. He imagines the beautiful blend of different chords and scale degrees, portraying his undying love for autumn. He imagines the meter, changing tempo, keeping the listeners on their toes, keeping them interested and entranced.

He is lost in happy thoughts, thoughts of recitals, booming applause and endless congratulation wishes.

Sometimes he likes to dream big.

A small smile grows on his thin lips.

_‘Dreaming… It’s been a while since I’ve done that…’_

~

At some point his train of thought gets interrupted by a faint clicking sound. Once, twice, three times.

He looks up; his breath hitches.

Across the beaten trail stands a person he has never ever seen before. The only words coming to Bin’s mind are: gorgeous, beautiful; a real-life angel.

His hair: As black as the darkest night, the most beautiful hue of ebony he has ever seen on anyone. Additionally, it’s pushed off of his forehead, gently coming to rest at the side of his face, a few strands seemingly falling into his eyes.

His skin: beautiful, unblemished and perfect. Its tone intensified through the sun behind him, making him wear a halo atop his head and giving him an ethereal glow. Though, the camera covering half his face doesn’t reveal too much, but still enough to take Bin’s breath away completely.

He decides right then and there that he’d like to see more of this man’s beauty. (Preferably until the end of his days.)

The outfit he is wearing could be described as boyfriend goals – according to the conversations of the girls in his classes. (Bin knows he’s ~~quite~~ (read: very) gay, but he likes to think of himself as not _that_ gay. Though, deep down he knows he is.)

A big, dark blue hoodie with the left sleeve coloured red covers the whole upper half of his body, also leaving him with adorable sweater paws, Bin notices. Simple black jeans and black Vans bring the whole look together.

Indeed, a boyfriend look, if it were necessary for Bin to give his opinion. (He agrees with the girls in his class for once.)

He then takes a quick glimpse at the stranger’s face.

His brain short-circuits, he misses the forth click; the smile on his face brighter than before.

He doesn’t even see him lowering the camera hiding his face, revealing his face for the very first time. (The first time Bin registers at least.)

This man across has to be the epitome of beauty: Perfect facial features, bone structure to die for, raw and natural beauty.

Bin is mesmerised, unable to avert his eyes which are transfixed on the stranger’s face, on his eyes. The subconscious smile on his face never loses its brightness.

They hold eye contact for a few single moments only; however, Bin is already gone. Lost in rich mocha eyes, trapped by the depth and intensity of the man’s stare.

Bin notices him fidgeting. _‘He’s uncomfortable, did I go too far?’_ he wonders in his head.

He did not - if the shy smile forming on the others face is anything to go by.

 _‘I made him smile…what a beautiful sight…,’_ his mind supplies.

What a beautiful sight indeed.

However, this scene feels awfully intimate suddenly, causing a soft blush to bloom on his cheeks.

He can’t really explain it, but having this nameless angel smile at him, slightly embarrassed, admiration shining in his eyes, feels weirdly intimate. _‘I don’t even know his name, for Christ’s sake…,’_ is the only thought running through his head.

It definitely did something to his heart though. Whether this something turns out to be a good something or bad something, he doesn’t know.

For the moment however, he can say he quite likes it. What he also likes is the redness he catches spreading over alabaster skin.

 _‘Get a grip, Moon Bin! What are you thinking!’_ he scolds himself. _‘Avert your eyes, moron! Don’t just stare at him like some dumb idiot!’_

Reluctantly he gives in. He lowers his gaze; shyly – his cheeks aflame as well.

He wants the stranger to stay, wants to fall into easy conversation with him and wants to get to know him. He badly wants to have those things; however, the reality is different:

He hears the leaves crunching in the wake of the stranger walking away.

There’s no name he can call for the stranger to turn back around, to come back, to stay. All he has is the hauntingly beautiful image of nice, wide shoulders and a beautiful backside leaving through a curtain of falling leaves; longing is all that remains.

He longs to see him again, to speak to him, to touch him.

Longing is all he feels.

Unknown to him, he portrays his longing in his works for weeks to come, his professors highly praising the level of emotion his pieces show, his talent in composing.

Nevertheless, his longing continues.

To him, autumn means change. And maybe seeing an angel kissed by the early autumn sun amongst a rain of browns, yellows, reds and greens, is just the change he needed.

To him, autumn means renewal.

**Author's Note:**

> I'll try to update as quickly as possible, but I have a lot of work I need to do for school, so it could take a while til the next chapter, however I plan on finishing this because everybody needs soft Binu in their lives tbh. Pls expect more in the future! If there is something you want to see in particular, let me know in the comments! 
> 
> Until then you can always hit me up on twitter [@strayingmoon](https://twitter.com/strayingmoon)!


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